“And a big book-case in the parlor, full of—every thing!” added Hannah, intent only on her personal accommodation.
“And handsome carpets all over it, and a mahogany sofa, and a big looking-glass. Just ’spose it once.”
“I hope we’ll have a garden, with an elegant arbor, as shady as can be.”
“With grapes, and lots of fruit-trees, and plenty of dahlias! Well, it would be nice,” and Abby suffered the knife handles to slip into the hot water, a piece of carelessness expressly forbidden by the careful Mrs. Gilman, while she rested her chubby hands thoughtfully on the rim of the milk pan.
“But come, the water’s all getting cold, and there’s Sam round by the barn whistling. There’s the knives.”
“It’s always cold here,” shivered Hannah, fretfully; “I should think mother might let us wash dishes on the table in the kitchen. I’m most frozen here every night. It takes twice as long—”
“There’s Sam slamming the door as usual,” interrupted Abby, “tracking up the whole floor, of course.”
And there stood Sam, as she looked over her shoulder into the centre room, his face glowing with the quick walk, a woollen comforter knotted about his throat, and the torn vizor of a seal-skin cap hanging over his eyes. His old round-about, buttoned up close to the chin, was powdered with feathery flakes of snow, and his gray satinet pantaloons, with “eyes,” as he called the patches on the knees, scarcely reached to his boots. But for all this, he was a fine, hardy-looking boy, full of life, and health, and spirits, and would have demonstrated the latter by an impromptu war dance, on the kitchen floor, if he had not caught his mother’s look of warning.
“Been to supper at the deacon’s—give us the milk pail, Chunk,” he called out very unceremoniously in answer to Abby’s threatened lecture. “I know you like to strain the milk after dark, so you can have me to hold the light for you. Don’t she, Nan?—hurry up there,” and snatching the pail, he was gone again in a moment, out into the darkness and increasing storm, caring neither for the loneliness nor the exposure.